


A Pet for Every Primarch

by Hiccup (FriedensPanzer)



Category: Horus Heresy - Various Authors, Warhammer 40.000, Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: Cute, Dialogue Heavy, Gen, Humour, Other, Translation from Russian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 23:32:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4282158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriedensPanzer/pseuds/Hiccup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a session of family therapy with Sigmund Freud, instigated by the Emperor himself, each primarch is assigned a pet to care for, look after, and love. To find out what became of this, read on!<br/>This is a translation from the Russian text by Avdotya Praskovyevna.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Distribution

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Grim n Dark Company](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Grim+n+Dark+Company).
  * Inspired by [Каждому примарху по зверушке](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/126498) by Авдотья Прасковьевна. 



> I read this in Russian, and immediately decided the parts of the fandom inhabiting the anglosphere couldn't possibly live without it! More chapters will be posted as they are written and translated.

Emperor: Gentlemen, I have gathered you here to impart some unpleasant news… The level of unrest within our family is unprecedentedly high. In light of this, I have thought a while and decided to invite a family psychologist.

Malcador: (aside) Mhhm, “invited”. Had I not made a fuss and distracted him from the Crusade…

Emperor: Silence! And so, allow me to introduce… Sigmund Freud!

Lorgar: Freud? Ahem.

Emperor: Do you have an objection?

Lorgar: Err, not really. He can be Freud.

Emperor: Well, that’s not his actual name. But I want him to be Freud.

Sigmund Freud: I have familiarized myself with the problem at hand. I won’t overload you with unnecessary information, going only as far as to say that by way of therapy, I would recommend each of you care for a personal pet.

Horus: So, this menagerie isn’t here for no reason, then?

Freud: Correct! Each of you will choose a creature and care for it.

Emperor: I am giving you an order: each pick an animal. Immediately!

The primarchs surround the animals, which have bunched together fearfully, and the action begins.

Perturabo: I want that ball…

Freud: That’s an armadillo.

Perturabo: Oh, what a pleasant name for a noble animal! Perfectly suited to a true warrior. I’ll take it!

Lion: Frag! Perturabo has taken the true warriors’ animal… Oh, what is this beast? What long fur! Such crimson eyes!

Freud: Rabbit. Angora rabbit. You can knit socks and hats from its wool.

Lion: I’ll take him! I know that he will be loyal. He’ll never betray!

Freud: *scribbling some notes* Ohh-kay, who’s next?

Alpharius: Omegon and I will take the ferret.

Freud: Good choice! Will you be wanting a second one?

Omegon: Oh, no, we do everything together! We’ll care for the ferret together too.

Horus: *turning an anteater this way and that* Bloody hell…

Freud: Do you want to take him?

Horus: No way… it’s scary-looking.

Freud: Yet he has kind eyes and has slobbered all over you. So, I am _prescribing_ you this anteater.

Fulgrim: Heh, Horus is welcome to have _that thing_. Meanwhile, I will be quite content to have this lovely little bird.

Freud: A peacock? I’m somehow unsurprised.

Lorgar: Hey, I’ve got a bird too! This rooster will wake me in time for morning prayers.

Freud: “The Rooster of Lorgar”… that could work.

Lorgar: Fulgrim! Your peacock is harassing my rooster.

Fulgrim: The rooster is lonely, and I sympathize.

Russ: I see you’ve got dogs, too.

Guilliman: Yes, I’ve already picked one.

Freud: The Alsatian?

Guilliman: Yes. I can just tell that she already respects the codex! …And the litter tray.

Russ: By the Kraken’s tentacles! It’s THAT VERY DOG!!!

Freud: The Chinese Crested?

Russ: You know nothing of her, buddy!

Freud: She’s also peed on your boot. It’s melting, by the way.

Russ: I’ll take her! Wow, this dog is just right for carrying under one’s arm! And what’s that beastly thing there?

Freud: Crocodile. A reptile.

Russ: Hey, Magnus! I think I’ve finally found someone more awful-looking than you!

Magnus: *takes crocodile* Fine, write the reptile up as mine. That bastard won’t calm down and leave me be no matter what I do anyway.

Freud: (to Mortarion) I see you’re sizing up the snail. This giant Achatina seems to have been made for you.

Mortarion: *contemplating a snail the size of a kitchen sink* It reminds me of home. Also, we are quite similar in temperament.

Curze: *grasping fishbowl tightly* Fishies…

Freud: *backing away just in case* I’m sure they’ll suit you just fine.

Curze: They’re. Silent.

 

Freud: We’ll need to order spares…

Sanguinius: This family of ermines are attacking my cloak.

Lorgar: Well, if you look at what it’s lined with… they’ve probably recognized their relatives.

Sanguinius: What horror! Well, I must at least take care of these ones.

Vulkan: I’d like to take this unremarkable animal. I doubt anyone else will want it, but I personally find it sweet.

Freud: (under his breath) what’s sweet about a platypus? (To Vulkan) Well, that’s entirely up to you.

Ferrus Manus: Brother, here is the epitome of “sweet”! *hugging a panda*

Vulkan: Your panda is quite nice too, I agree.

Khan: This horse is a bit small…

Freud: That’s a pony! For you, it’s practically a pocket-horse.

Khan: It has ribbons in its mane…

Freud: You can decorate it with skulls if you prefer, just don’t overload it.

Khan: I’ll make a man of it yet!

Angron: To be honest, I already have Betsy, but I suppose she could do with the company.

Freud: I might be going out on a limb here, but did you pick the porcupine because of its hairdo?

Angron: Oh, do you see a resemblance?

Corax: Well, I can’t seem to detach this loris, so I suppose you can write him down as mine.

Freud: Oh my, and it came to you of its own accord!

Angron: That’s because my brother is lacking in ferocity.

Corax: Just you stick to watching your porcupine, buddy.

Dorn: Cat… you came to me of all people.

Fulgrim: You better watch that thing, it’s already assaulted my peacock!

Lorgar: And my rooster.

Dorn: She’s not assaulting anyone. She’s being watchful.

Emperor: All done?

Horus: *still a little dazed and confused* Yes, papa.

Emperor: Then we’ll reconvene in a week to see how everyone is doing.


	2. Our Achievements

Lorgar: We are embroiled in a family conflict. I think the rooster has no love for papa.

Freud: Are we talking about the Emperor right now?

Lorgar: No, of course not! We’re talking about my first, I mean… my second father.

Freud: And how did you realize that the relationship was not going well?

Lorgar: Papa is mad for chicken soup.

Freud: Keep working on it. Look, Betsy has already learned to ride astride the porcupine.

Lorgar: *in great frustration* But that’s Angron’s dog! Can you imagine it doing any differently?

Guilliman: Well, my little darling has already learned to disassemble, clean and reassemble a bolter!

Freud: (to Lorgar) Let that be an example to you!

Lorgar: But the rooster, it is a proud bird.

Guilliman: (under his breath) …and a shitty one.

Lorgar: I hear everything!

Freud: Break it up, you two, before your father makes his displeasure known!

Lion: My rabbit, it… err. Always seems to want something. On the advice of the worldlier, more experienced Fulgrim, I got him a girlfriend. Now I have a whole rabbit farm… A whole farm of devoted, loyal rabbits!

Freud: Oh!

Russ: My boys have quit drinking…

Freud: And how did you manage to motivate them to do this?

Russ: I swear, it was not me! It’s all _her_ doing. The wolves say that while this monstrosity wanders the Fang, they cannot let their guard down even for a second. No time for feasting now, comrade psychologist.

Freud: That’s all right, your liver will suffer less for it.

Russ: Not that I had any complaints before.

Magnus: Come to think of it, where _is_ your fleabag? I’d love to shake her paw.

Russ: *shudders* I left her in the lobby. But I see you’ve dragged your crocodile along.

Magnus: We’ve travelled the currents of the warp together. Seems to me like he has great divinatory potential.

Russ: Myeah, we had a squid like that once, on Fenris. Liked to tell the future, too.

Magnus: And what became of him?

Russ: It preferred death to ongoing disputes with my boys...

Magnus: What can I say, I feel for him.

Freud: And where is Fulgrim?

Russ: He refuses to leave his peacock’s side.

Lorgar: You could say he’s found himself a girlfriend.

Freud: I understand him – the peacock is a beautiful bird.

Lorgar: With one notable fault… It has no voice.

Freud: Ohh…


	3. The Trend Spreads

Yet another session in Freud’s office at the Emperor’s Palace.

Freud: As I we can all see, the trend for keeping companion animals is spreading among the constituents of the various legions at the speed of light.

Russ: I am the first casualty of this disaster! My lieutenant, may he be buggered, got himself a manul and now (in a conspiratorial whisper) _that dog_ and the aforementioned feline are having a turf war over the Fang.

Horus: So where are you taking refuge?

Russ: I’ve taken myself of to Guilliman’s. As an experienced breeder, surely he’d be able to teach me a few things. And, do you know what I saw there?

Horus: Disciplined lines of pups and tidy kennels?

Russ: Could you imagine the Ultramarines doing anything contrary to the will of their primarch?

Horus: Couldn’t dream such a thing, not in the worst nightmare. Oh, and do you know what he named his dog?

Lorgar: Robaut!

Horus: What kind of person are you?

Lorgar: (to Horus) I’m a primarch. How about you tell us how your anteater is doing instead?

Horus: Yeah, he’s all right. He’s pretty nifty. My boys love him too – they keep bringing him treats.

Lorgar: And he doesn’t scream in the mornings? Shit wherever he pleases? Try to mark his territory? Rape or assault anyone? Fulgrim, you bastard, this is in relation to you and that peacock!

Horus: Nope. Everything’s fine with the anteater.

Lograr: Guys! Dad’s favoring Horus above the rest of us again!

Horus: Here we go again…

Angron: Kharn has screwed me over…

Russ: What terrible thing has your legion’s voice of reason masterminded this time?

Angron: They got themselves a toad! A huge one. It leaps upon the enemy and crushes them. Kharn says that when he watches this happening, he falls into a Zen state and the butchers’ nails in his brain no longer trouble him. As if this wasn’t enough, this toad has some weird kind of hypnotic quality about it. Kharn drags it out onto the battlefield every time I fall into a rage. The toad looks me in the eye, and then…Nothingness.

Horus: The toad’s not so bad. Just ask Russ what the hell he mailed to the Mournival by way of a gift.

Russ: Grimpoteuthis. A dumbo octopus.

*flashback*

Loken: Guys, we’ve got a parcel. Has a note on it, saying “To my beloved nephews from Uncle Russ.” Maybe we shouldn’t open it…

Abbadon: Pfft, Is it just me of is Loken frightened? Give it here *rips it open* ARGH, WHAT THE FRAG IS THIS THING?!!

Tarik: *laughing hysterically* It’s a kind of octopus.

Aximand: (melancholically) Tentacles…

*flashback over*

Horus: Truth be told, they kind of liked it.

Fulgrim: What poor taste! Our peacock, on the other hand...

Lorgar: …Is a despicable rapist! You wouldn’t believe it, but Fabius has taught it to sing. It has such vocal range, such coloratura, that it knocks bystanders unconscious. After it attacks, the victim remembers nothing. Only torn trousers and a sense of tarnished honor.

Fulgrim: And you know this how?

Lorgar: It victimized my rooster!

Angron: (suggestively) Have you seen Fabius’ cat? Even Betsy fears her! Take note, this is Betsy, the one that rides porcupines for fun!

*everyone shudders*

Constantine Valdor: They say he got one of those hairless sphinx cats!

Fulgrim: Yup, Eidolon asked at one point “So, did Fabius lose the hair so as to match the cat, or was the cat selected for its hairlessness to start with?”

Horus: So, how did the matter resolve itself?

Fulgrim: Eidolon was saved by his personal aye-aye.

Russ: Who?

Fulgrim: It’s a kind of critter. I’ll show you a pict sometime. Just have a stiff drink first. So, Fabius is rather, hmm, intimidated… by Eidolon’s aye-aye, and so he is willing to forgive the aforementioned’s rudeness.

Lorgar: Oh my, what fierce passions are afoot…

Malcador the Sigillite: At least they haven’t been visited by papa’s woodpecker!

Constantine Valdor: And how is your pig doing?

Malcador: Not great. You’ll laugh, but the woodpecker has henpecked it. Well, pecked it, anyhow, to the verge of madness. And the pig has henpecked me. With her trotter.

Horus: I don’t understand. How’s the pig involved in all this?

Malcador: Your father relays his edicts this way on occasion.

Constantine Valdor: Do more traditional methods not satisfy him? He is not troubled by the fact that the pig torments you by night?

Macador: What slander! I have a perfectly respectable pig!

Constantine Valdor: So, what you mean to say is, the Imperium is run by a woodpecker and a perfectly respectable pig?

Malcador: You’re walking a thin line right now, Valdor.

Lorgar: You don’t say… The other day I asked papa why it is, that his favorite bird is the woodpecker, yet our symbol is the eagle. Do you know what he said?

Malcador: I dread to imagine…

Lorgar: He said he’d thought about changing the symbol, but just couldn’t quite work out a new greeting for his warriors. What were we meant to do upon meeting? Rap each other on the head?

Freud: *eyeing Lorgar* Mmyes, I think I will have to ask for a pay raise. And I haven’t even heard a full half of you out…

Slave: Konrad Curze is at the door. Saying he needs a fresh party of goldfish...


	4. The Epic Tale of Sevatar's Goat

Lorgar: *bursts flustered and breathless, with the rooster under his arm, into Freud’s office* Guys, we are fuu-

Freud: Such language. And from you.

Lorgar: Oh, you’d be swearing your head off something savage too, if you heard that Iago Sevatar got himself a goat! Curze is going mental!

Freud: And now, with more clarity, please. (to the slave) And yes, go fetch a fresh batch of goldfish!

Lorgar: How many stars is this collectible cognac rated with? I need something at least forty stars strong, to do justice to this epic tale.

Freud: No such cognac exists. If I draw on the missing stars, will you continue the telling?

Lorgar: *patting his stunned rooster* That’ll do. Here, have a marker. In addition, I request from you a session of therapy for my poor bird – he’s still in shock from his encounter with the peacock.

Freud: *drawing stars on the bottle* The rooster will be a priority.

Lorgar: And so, it all started with a fresh party of goldfish, and a joint campaign by two legions. At the party dedicated to the closing of yet another successful season of the Great Crusade, Iago Sevatar got sloshed on Mortarion’s vile plonk, which quite successfully presents as a competitor to Fabius’ smoking blends on the black market…

Freud: Hold up, you lot have your own niche in the black market?

Lorgar: Son, we’re not fooling around here. Papa only gives us money for armaments – as for girls and wine, he suddenly becomes dispiritingly tight-fisted. Not to mention we have to obtain food for all these animals. And anyway, don’t interrupt!

Freud: *to himself* star number twenty-fiiive…

Lorgar: As I was saying, Sevatar in his utterly plastered state was invited by captain Typhon to his personal quarters with one purpose – to show off a rare fish. The fish was exceptionally revolting, resembling above all a pile of slimy, milky-colored jelly. Typhon waffled at length about its preferred habitat and terrible expensiveness. And so, while the naiive captain of the Death Guard proclaimed his undying love for this “fish” which bears more resemblance to a piece of cellulite, a cunning plan hatched in Sevatar’s mind. Which is unsurprising, given that Curze was bemoaning his fish deficit not long ago.

Freud: Thirty-seventh sta….So, he stole it?

Lorgar: Precisely! And gifted it to his primarch, anonymously. Well, you know how “anonymity” goes in the legions. So, the joker was quickly found, and put in the aquarium for a couple of weeks.

Freud: so, in the clink, basically?

Lorgar: Something like that. The time passed quickly, and the intended disciplinary effect was evidently negligible, as only a week later Sevatar had ordered himself a goat. A black-and-white one.

Freud: And what happened to the fish?

Lorgar: Mortarion took it for himself.

*With an impudent look, Amon Tauromachian bursts into the office. And on his shoulder sits a…*

Lorgar: A washerwoman raccoon? Holy frag, what can I say, you’ve outdone yourself!

Amon: A batch of tops crayfish just arrived. Should I order you guys some?

Freud: Only with beer.

Lorgar: So, what’s going on here?

Amon: A new trick from the Death Guard. They’ve truly cracked the black market.

Lorgar: I knew they wouldn’t be trading on moonshine alone for long.

Amon: (to Lorgar) You might be interested to know this. Fulgrim has gifted Bequa Kynska a musk rat, as a reward for her talents. She has since had the beast dyed blue.

Lorgar: Frag. I’d better get going.

Freud: Off you go, then…


	5. The Woodpecker is Dead

Another session with Dr. Freud.

Freud: And so, Malcador, you have been deserted by your pig.

Malcador: She insists that I dedicate too much time to my work.

Freud: The pig. Insists. I see. Anything else?

Malcador: Please, make her return to me, doctor! She was my only trusted person!

Freud: Pig. Trusted person. All riiight, anything else?

Malcador: We need to hide the woodpecker’s corpse.

 

*Sometime later*

 

Freud: And so, your father’s beloved woodpecker is deceased.

Perturabo: We know. I’ve already prepared some drafts for a truly epic tomb!

Dorn: And I shall be responsible for guarding it. That woodpecker had many enemies while it lived.

Lorgar: Brothers, you know, sometimes I feel as though papa loved that woodpecker more than he loved us.

Horus: Yeah yeah, keep talking.

Lorgar: Well, you’re the exception, of course. You alone were equal to that bird in papa’s eyes.

Horus: Watch your rooster. I think I see the peacock creeping towards it.

Noisepeacock suddenly bursts into song. The stunned primarchs fall from their seats, with the exception of Fulgrim.

Fulgrim: *removing earphones* Huh? Who’s there?

Perturabo: *petting his armadillo affectionately* What are you so preoccupied with there, Fulgrim?

Fulgrim: I’m composing a high mass _in memoriam_ of the late woodpecker.

Guilliman: Am I the only one who sees the sheer idiocy of all this?

Dorn: Brother, you’re on the verge of heresy just now.

Guilliman: That’s ok. I’ve got my own miniature Imperium now.

Lorgar: And disciplined rows of obedient dogs. At least the ones with the collars are cute, whereas the ones in blue…

Freud: I see you’re still having trouble cooperating with one-another.

Russ: Long as Sigismund’s manul cat keeps wandering around and, pardon me, fucking everything that moves, the world can know no peace.

Dorn: What’s Murzik got to do with it?

Russ: He’s harassed Betsy, and my poor girl.

Dorn: Evidently he’s got no taste at all. You can see right away he’s got no breeding.

Fulgrim: *hopefully* Maybe he’s kinky?

Dorn: _Whaaat?!_

Fulgrim: Oh, don’t mind me *re-inserting earphones* I wasn’t holding out any great hopes of success.

Dorn: Let me remind you that the gene-seed of the Imperial Fists is the strongest, the very purest!

Fulgrim: (mutters) Why don’t you stick it in some formaldehyde and pickle it for posterity?

Corax: Your animals are much too aggressive! Whereas my loris is very sweet! Lion, what’s your rabbit gnawing on?

Lion: *snatching a bone and a bundle of feathers from the rabbit’s maw* He’s not to blame. He’s a good bunny. He won’t betray!!!

Vulkan: Let’s leave the Lion alone. He’s on a bad vibe.

Freud: (to Vulkan) You’re among the more reasonable ones here. What do you suggest we do?

Vulkan: We must gift papa a new bird.

Lion: *scrupulously mopping the blood from his rabbit’s muzzle with the hem of his cloak* Birds are too unreliable. Let’s give him a bunny.

*The rabbit gives a satisfied belch, and another bunch of feathers tumbles to the floor*

Freud: I don’t think that’d be wise.

*Amon Tauromachian bursts into the room, flustered and accompanied by his raccoon*

Amon: Comrades, we have a problem!

Magnus: Who are you calling comrades? We’re living in a constitutional monarchy.

Mortarion: Sorry, I must have missed something, but since when do we have a constitution?

Horus: Oh, papa was writing something at one point, but quickly tired of it, and used the draft versions to line the floor of his beloved woodpecker’s enclosure.

Lorgar: Mhm. Yeah, like “here’s how the bird and I feel about your constitutional rights.”

Amon: Gentlemen! We have problems: the Emperor is greatly aggrieved by the death of his woodpecker, and to make matters worse, he’s quarreled with Malcador, who’s been abandoned by his pig.

Curze: Wait, who abandoned him?

Amon. The pig. The respectable one.

Curze: Would you expect anything different from a respectable pig?

Freud: Break it up! (to Amon) Where did you get this information?

Amon: The raccoon reported it.

Horus: That raccoon is tricksy. And what the hell are we meant to do?

Amon: You must hold an epic funeral for the woodpecker, reunite Malcador with his pig, make peace between the regent and papa, and give the Emperor a new animal.

Curze: A goat.

Guilliman: Are you trying to imply something about papa?

Curze: Pfft, yeah, because the woodpecker wasn’t symbolic at all! Total coincidence! And anyhow, the goat has had a blessed influence on Sevatar.

Lorgar: There’s something biblical about all this.

Curze: What are you on about?

Lorgar: About responsibility, my friend.

Horus: And so, brothers, grab your menagerie, epic adventures await us!

Perturabo: Provided we survive Fulgrim’s high mass…

Fulgrim: Speaking of, I’d completely forgotten to mention, I’ve written a solo part for my peacock…

*an oppressive silence descends upon the room*

Mortarion: Don’t know about you, but I’ll be having a drink before this concert.

Lorgar: Brother, drink is our only hope in this.

Fabius: *from a dark corner* Don’t count on it.


	6. Following the Woodpecker's Demise

Fulgrim: Brothers, I’ve composed a requiem d-moll “On the Matter of the Regrettable End of a Beloved Songbird”.

Guilliman: It’s a woodpecker.

Curze: *gloomily* De mortuis aut bene, aut nihil.

Lorgar: Rest in peace, birdie.

Guilliman: I can’t believe you lot are being serious!

Horus: It was the most important woodpecker in the entire Imperium. Deal with it.

*In the tomb constructed by Perturabo’s legion, under the watchful eye of the Imperial Fists, the woodpecker is laid to its final rest*

Bequa Kynska: *with a blue musk rat riding her shoulder* So, what’re we singing?

Fulgrim: Lady, here’s the score, and here’s the peacock.

Bequa Kynska: Far out...

Lucius: My lord, what are your orders for me?

Fulgrim: You’ll be taking orders from Fabius. Run operation “Primarchs in a State of Sobriety”. I don’t want these drunken pigs to spoil my benefit party.

Lucius: Benefit party? I thought we were holding a funeral.

Fulgrim: Your mandrill is waiting for you.

*The mandrill takes in the proceedings with a philosophic gaze, and sighs mournfully*

Fulgrim: The peacock will be warming up his vocal cords in a moment, so scoot on out of here!

Lucius: I understand.

Fulgrim: Actually, no! You must hear this. It is simply divine.

*the peacock SHRIEKS, and Lady Kynska together with her musk rat faint straight into Lucius’ arms*

Lucius: Err, what am I meant to do with this? *glances to his mandrill, who just shrugs*

Fulgrim: Oh, just put them in a corner over there. I’ll sort it out later. Now, off you go to Fabius.

*while the musk rat sleeps, Sigismund’s manul Murzik creeps up behind it and begins to hump it cheerfully*

Fulgrim: And you’re the pet of an Imperial Fist? Oh, the irony!

Meanwhile, Constantine Valdor, accompanied by his combat wombat, patrols the grounds in search of undesirables. The wombat is armored, but remains cuddly and sweet. Valdor’s facial expression is in stark contrast to that of the wombat.

Valdor: Who goes there?

*A pig appears from behind the corner, and regards Valdor with doleful eyes*

Valdor: Hey, aren’t you Malcador’s porker? I’d better get you back to your daddy!

*The pig has been located, but everything is only beginning, as the primarchs have just arrived to observe the preparations. In the orchestra pit, musicians are tuning their instruments, half-naked dancers are scurrying about onstage. Workers are installing epic decorations. Everywhere is noise, mess and merriment.*

 Perturabo: What is this ignominious spectacle?

Fulgrim: *pouting* Like you could possibly understand.

Perturabo: I thought were were, y’know, mourning a deceased person.

Guilliman: Woodpecker.

Perturabo: Fine, a deceased woodpecker.

Fulgrim: I’ve decided to depart from convention and experiment a little.

Mortarion: Don’t look at me, I’m already drunk.

Lorgar: Hold on a moment. Something’s amiss with Angron. He’s…Twitching weirdly.

Russ: It’s those damn butcher’s nails in his brain. Now he’s going to get out his axe, and we’ll have a complete installation art display with some gory performance art thrown in.

*Ominous silence, as everyone eyes Angron warily*

Russ: Magnus, I don’t get it, you’re not going to seize the opportunity to pick on me? I’ve just used two trendy and fanciful expressions in a row.

Magnus: Oh, bugger off. Everyone, including my crocodile, is long since aware of the fact that you are not any sort of common barbarian, but a true smart-arsed mug.

Russ: Is that so?

Lorgar: Angron’s unwell!

Angron: Quit panicking! It’s not the nails, just an ordinary nervous tic. And everything is so colorful and pretty… I’ll go pat Betsy.

Lion: Has anyone seen my bunny?

Corax: No, but I hear that in one of the alleys, they found a worker’s corpse with its guts hanging out.

Lion: He’s not like that!!! (to Corax) Now, where exactly did they find this corpse?

Corax: Near the guard’s post.

Mortarion: Lion,don’t go forgetting that Valdor is keeping watch today. With the beaver.

Corax: Wombat.

Mortarion: I’m already drunk, as you’ll recall, so it makes no difference to me.

Lion: *departing* here pet-pet-pet.

Horus: I have one question. Where have our monozygotic ones gotten to?

*Alpharius and Omegon are watching the proceedings from a balcony, on the rails of which their ferret is frozen in expectation of orders*

Alpharius: This will be our greatest and most cunning multilevel ploy!

Omegon: We are relying on the help of a ferret. Are you sure he can be trusted?

Alpharius: If you and I have been able to rely on ordinary humans, why not a ferret?

Omegon: Y’know, I’ve long since wanted to ask… Are you sure that _you’re_ Alpharius?

Alpharius: We’ve only discussed this question a thousand times! And anyhow, Hydra Dominatus!

Omegon: Why are you telling this to me of all people?

Alpharius: Just in case you forgot, are tired, or drunk.

Omegon: Me? I’m always sober. For I am watchful. Just in case you decide to play a trick on some poor bastard again by convincing him he is having identity issues.

Alpharius: Grab the ferret and let’s go, Fabius has already prepared the sobering potion.

*they depart, not noticing that an ordinary raccoon has been watching them the entire time.*

*Meanwhile, in the hall where the primarchs await the performance*

Curze: I won’t be surprised in the least if they’re plotting something again.

Angron: To hell with the twins, better tell me instead, o dark-browed one, if this is a first for you too - seeing so many lovely half-naked bodies in one place?

Lorgar: Cavemen…

Curze: What, like you know anything about women?

Lorgar: *stroking his rooster* Brother dear, I hope you’ve not forgotten that I am a man of faith. A woman in the throes of religious ecstasy is capable of many things.

Curze: …I’ll go feed the fishes.

Angron: I’m not surprised that they keep dying on you. What, with your traditional diet and all. Now my Betsy, she’s got a special diet, developed by the best nutritionists!

Lorgar: Can’t wait to join Mortarion in inebriation, I swear I am going mad here.

Fulgrim: Right, leave all your animals in this here special room by the stage!

Horus: Why would we do that?

Fulgrim: The peacock will be singing. It might be a solo performance. Depending on whether lady Kynska can be resuscitated in time.

Horus: what do the animals have to do with it?

Fulgrim: I don’t want them soiling everything…

*The primarchs comply unenthusiastically and rise from their seats clutching their pets. In that moment, an enraged Curze rushes into the room*

Angron: You reminded me of myself just then. Did you have a good drink?

Curze: THE GOAT’S BEEN STOLEN!

Fulgrim: It’s Sevatar’s goat, let him sort it out.

Curze: But it’s practically the symbol of our entire legion!

Fulgrim: The space marines will be granted entrance shortly. You will give your Sevatar orders to go off and investigate, and I will not be letting you spoil the concert.

Dorn: It’s a funeral mass, remember?

Fulgrim: It’s my golden hour, so hurry up and deposit your animals. You, Curze, send Sevatar to investigate, and everyone else – prepare yourselves for a life-threatening dose of the sublime. It is time for me to don my costume.

Magnus: (to Russ) Hopefully not a costume of the deceased culprit of all this merry-making?

Fulgrim: How did you guess?


	7. A Gift for the Emperor

*The primarchs have crowded together behind the stage. Everyone is in their parade armor, with the exception of Fulgrim, who is wearing a woodpecker costume. Horus is holding two cages, each with an animal inside*

Horus: I didn’t think that dad would be this grief-stricken.

Russ: I think he’s just got a killer hangover.

Magnus: We’ll defer to your judgment as the eminent expert in this matter.

Curze: *pointing a claw at the animals* Who’s this?

Fulgrim: (hissing) Why did you have to wear those today? Do you know how expensive these chairs are? You’ll ruin the velvet!

Curze: The woodpecker’s opinions are irrelevant to me. So anyway, who is this?

Horus: A gift for papa… A whole two gifts. This *lifting one cage, so that everyone may see into it* is an echidna.

Angron: And what does it represent?

Lorgar: Papa’s intellect, papa’s honor and papa’s conscience. And the other one?

Horus: A dragon. From some islands that don’t exist anymore.

Lorgar: Looks more like an overgrown lizard… It keeps poking its tongue out at me!

Guilliman: The lizard is evidently discerning about the Emperor’s offspring! It’s a good judge of character. This dragon can represent the wisdom of our papa.

Lorgar: I see. No wonder it’s got such sad eyes.

Magnus: How shall we present these?

Horus: With much pageantry!

Curze: Let’s just get this done and over with. I still have to go find that goat.

*For his Imperial Majesty, an entire separate balcony has been decorated. It is to this balcony that the Throne has been hauled, occupied by the mournful Emperor, suffering greatly from his hangover and the untimely death of his beloved pet. Periodically, he glances at Malcador, who is seated in the stalls, wearing a stylish shirt which reads “Officio Assasinorum pwns!”

Emperor: He is incorrigible.

Amon: *standing behind the throne, petting his raccoon* There’s a whole delegation here to see you.

Emperor: I’m in poor spirits. I can’t even summon up any enthusiasm for the Great Crusade. Been thinking about the meaning of existence, the futility of all our efforts, about time and ashes…

Amon: (to his raccoon) You’d better get used to it. He often gets like this.

Emperor: And anyway, what haven’t I seen in those Crusades…?

Amon: Boss? I mean, I’m sorry for interrupting, but Fulgrim’s out there, dressed as a woodpecker.

Emperor: *is instantly revivified* Well, what are you waiting for? Summon him in! (to himself) Turns out I was mistaken to bestow the eagle’s wing upon him. Wrong bird.

*Amon leads the primarchs in, and the balcony creaks treacherously*

Horus: Papa, we have a surprise for you. Or rather, two.

Emperor: *rubbing his hands together* Oh, I do like surprises.

Lorgar: (aside) Yeah, like dropping out of the sky, burning everything to ashes and fu…

Emperor: I hear everything!

Horus: *emphatically* Papa, here you go, some pets from us.

Emperor: *looking from the echidna to the Komodo dragon* What endearing creatures!

Horus: This one’s an echidna. It represents your intellect, honor and… Oh, what the hell am I prattling about? Look, papa, you are a troll of galactic proportions, and therefore you simply must have an echidna to lug around on your shoulder. This is our opinion.

Emperor: *wiping a tear* My beloved son! And what’s the second one?

Horus: A dragon from some nonexistent islands. A rare species, has been added to the black list.

Angron: Don’t you mean the red book?

Horus: (hissing) in this ’verse, the Red Book is for writing down the names of heroes. Posthumously.

Emperor: And what does he represent?

Horus: Your wisdom.

Emperor: He’s sticking his tongue out at me.

Horus: I’ll let you make your own conclusions about that... Anyhow, take the animals. We can see that you like them.

Emperor: Can’t say it enough.

Fulgrim: And how do you like my stage persona?

Emperor: Simply delightful, my son. Bear in mind that when these two beasties die, you’ll have a hell of a time with the costumes.

*The sons depart, leaving the Emperor in the company of his new pets and Amon. The raccoon on the Custodes’ shoulder is in a light state of shock.*

Emperor: And still, what wonderful creatures!

*The echidna has accommodated itself comfortably on its master’s shoulder, and the dragon has stretched itself out across papa’s lap. The beasts have cottoned onto their newly-elite status, and are regarding the Custodes contemptuously.*

Amon: Constantine Valdor reports that the twins are plotting some vileness again.

Emeror: *patting the dragon* Aw, let the boys have their fun!

Amon: Don’t you think it’s time to rein them in? The ongoing success of their pranks is clearly going to their heads. They’re convinced they’re the sneakiest, cleverest thing in the entire camp.

Emperor: The boys like to fool around, but we shall forgive them. They’re my littlest ones, after all.

Amon: (to his raccoon) Do his mood swings get to you, too? *the raccoon nods* Boss, I nevertheless propose that we keep a close eye on them!

Emperor: You go ahead and do that. In the meantime, I shall think up names for my new friends.

*Amon leaves, only to run into Horus in the corridor*

Amon: You were wrong to call your father a troll of galactic proportions. It’s gone straight to his head.

Horus: Well, what was I meant to do? He was grief-stricken!

Amon: And have you taken a moment to think about how the other animals will react when these two new ones join them?

Horus: I already fear whatever Fulgrim’s peacock might do.

Amon: Oh, he’s much too preoccupied for that right now… The peacock that is. He’s busy struggling to sing in tune with lady Kynska. A whole brigade of medics stands on high alert nearby.  Although, they too faint from time to time. So now they are accompanied by a Space Wolf apothecary.

Horus: Mmyeah…

Emperor: *rushes out into the hallways, his eyes saucer-like with alarm* I completely forgot to ask - are these boys or girls?

Horus and Amon respond with a stunned silence…


	8. A Gift for the Emperor

*The primarchs have crowded together behind the stage. Everyone is in their parade armor, with the exception of Fulgrim, who is wearing a woodpecker costume. Horus is holding two cages, each with an animal inside*

Horus: I didn’t think that dad would be this grief-stricken.

Russ: I think he’s just got a killer hangover.

Magnus: We’ll defer to your judgment as the eminent expert in this matter.

Curze: *pointing a claw at the animals* Who’s this?

Fulgrim: (hissing) Why did you have to wear those today? Do you know how expensive these chairs are? You’ll ruin the velvet!

Curze: The woodpecker’s opinions are irrelevant to me. So anyway, who is this?

Horus: A gift for papa… A whole two gifts. This *lifting one cage, so that everyone may see into it* is an echidna.

Angron: And what does it represent?

Lorgar: Papa’s intellect, papa’s honor and papa’s conscience. And the other one?

Horus: A dragon. From some islands that don’t exist anymore.

Lorgar: Looks more like an overgrown lizard… It keeps poking its tongue out at me!

Guilliman: The lizard is evidently discerning about the Emperor’s offspring! It’s a good judge of character. This dragon can represent the wisdom of our papa.

Lorgar: I see. No wonder it’s got such sad eyes.

Magnus: How shall we present these?

Horus: With much pageantry!

Curze: Let’s just get this done and over with. I still have to go find that goat.

*For his Imperial Majesty, an entire separate balcony has been decorated. It is to this balcony that the Throne has been hauled, occupied by the mournful Emperor, suffering greatly from his hangover and the untimely death of his beloved pet. Periodically, he glances at Malcador, who is seated in the stalls, wearing a stylish shirt which reads “Officio Assasinorum pwns!”

Emperor: He is incorrigible.

Amon: *standing behind the throne, petting his raccoon* There’s a whole delegation here to see you.

Emperor: I’m in poor spirits. I can’t even summon up any enthusiasm for the Great Crusade. Been thinking about the meaning of existence, the futility of all our efforts, about time and ashes…

Amon: (to his raccoon) You’d better get used to it. He often gets like this.

Emperor: And anyway, what haven’t I seen in those Crusades…?

Amon: Boss? I mean, I’m sorry for interrupting, but Fulgrim’s out there, dressed as a woodpecker.

Emperor: *is instantly revivified* Well, what are you waiting for? Summon him in! (to himself) Turns out I was mistaken to bestow the eagle’s wing upon him. Wrong bird.

*Amon leads the primarchs in, and the balcony creaks treacherously*

Horus: Papa, we have a surprise for you. Or rather, two.

Emperor: *rubbing his hands together* Oh, I do like surprises.

Lorgar: (aside) Yeah, like dropping out of the sky, burning everything to ashes and fu…

Emperor: I hear everything!

Horus: *emphatically* Papa, here you go, some pets from us.

Emperor: *looking from the echidna to the Komodo dragon* What endearing creatures!

Horus: This one’s an echidna. It represents your intellect, honor and… Oh, what the hell am I prattling about? Look, papa, you are a troll of galactic proportions, and therefore you simply must have an echidna to lug around on your shoulder. This is our opinion.

Emperor: *wiping a tear* My beloved son! And what’s the second one?

Horus: A dragon from some nonexistent islands. A rare species, has been added to the black list.

Angron: Don’t you mean the red book?

Horus: (hissing) in this ’verse, the Red Book is for writing down the names of heroes. Posthumously.

Emperor: And what does he represent?

Horus: Your wisdom.

Emperor: He’s sticking his tongue out at me.

Horus: I’ll let you make your own conclusions about that... Anyhow, take the animals. We can see that you like them.

Emperor: Can’t say it enough.

Fulgrim: And how do you like my stage persona?

Emperor: Simply delightful, my son. Bear in mind that when these two beasties die, you’ll have a hell of a time with the costumes.

*The sons depart, leaving the Emperor in the company of his new pets and Amon. The raccoon on the Custodes’ shoulder is in a light state of shock.*

Emperor: And still, what wonderful creatures!

*The echidna has accommodated itself comfortably on its master’s shoulder, and the dragon has stretched itself out across papa’s lap. The beasts have cottoned onto their newly-elite status, and are regarding the Custodes contemptuously.*

Amon: Constantine Valdor reports that the twins are plotting some vileness again.

Emeror: *patting the dragon* Aw, let the boys have their fun!

Amon: Don’t you think it’s time to rein them in? The ongoing success of their pranks is clearly going to their heads. They’re convinced they’re the sneakiest, cleverest thing in the entire camp.

Emperor: The boys like to fool around, but we shall forgive them. They’re my littlest ones, after all.

Amon: (to his raccoon) Do his mood swings get to you, too? *the raccoon nods* Boss, I nevertheless propose that we keep a close eye on them!

Emperor: You go ahead and do that. In the meantime, I shall think up names for my new friends.

*Amon leaves, only to run into Horus in the corridor*

Amon: You were wrong to call your father a troll of galactic proportions. It’s gone straight to his head.

Horus: Well, what was I meant to do? He was grief-stricken!

Amon: And have you taken a moment to think about how the other animals will react when these two new ones join them?

Horus: I already fear whatever Fulgrim’s peacock might do.

Amon: Oh, he’s much too preoccupied for that right now… The peacock that is. He’s busy struggling to sing in tune with lady Kynska. A whole brigade of medics stands on high alert nearby.  Although, they too faint from time to time. So now they are accompanied by a Space Wolf apothecary.

Horus: Mmyeah…

Emperor: *rushes out into the hallways, his eyes saucer-like with alarm* I completely forgot to ask - are these boys or girls?

Horus and Amon respond with a stunned silence…


End file.
